The Red String
by nek0-sama
Summary: "Troy has Gabriella. Everybody has a somebody for them." The red string of fate draws people together, but fate can be altered by the decisions we make. Ryan Evans pines for Troy Bolton. At a graduation party, will indecision tempt the hands of fate?


**A/N: Apologies to my loyal followers of "Don't Let Me Drown". **Chapter twenty-five will be typed up soon. I'm not giving up on that story, so worry not. The idea for this came to me while I was working busily on finishing up another multi-chaptered tale of the two boys we love so much which will hopefully, soon see publication on this site as well. 

**Warnings/Disclaimers: As always, this is slash. **Haters of love between adolescent boys maintain a distance of fifty feet at all times. Anything recognizable belongs to Disney and Peter Barosschini unless circumstances dictate otherwise. 

The Red String

Part I.

"Graduation party at our house," Sharpay Evans proclaims. She winks at a couple of strapping gentlemen who are in the middle of removing their red EHS gowns.

Ryan Evans himself can't believe it. Their years at East High have officially come to an end. He is no longer any obligation to ever place foot in that building. He is still reeling, incredulous, the notion of his liberation from all of the un-accepting, close-minded douchebags, and his departure from the stage he graced and dominated numerous times not quite sinking in yet.

_A party? _He wonders. _What is there to celebrate? _Obviously their ascension from adolescence to adulthood, even though he doesn't feel any older. His receiving of a scholarship from the prestigious Julliard. His mom and dad were _so proud_. They had made the trip home from India just in time to see their son awarded the right to attend the renowned performing arts school. All of them neglect the fact that Julliard is thousands of miles away in New York. And of course, there is the other variable in the equation.

He glances up at Troy Bolton. The brunette has his arm around his girlfriend, the petite, dark-haired Gabriella Montez. Gabriella is now a college student. She accepted the open enrollment at Stanford University several weeks before rehearsals for the spring musical had wrapped up.

Impeccable Troy was able to miraculously drive the one thousand mile round trip to Stanford in California and back to Albuquerque just in time for the "It" couple to perform their duet in the musical and for Gabriella to graduate alongside her boyfriend and her peers.

It seems grossly unfair to Ryan that just as he was getting to know Troy, a long standing dream of his since he first laid eyes on the beautiful boy, Fate ordains their separation via attending college on opposite ends of the continent.

The former East High basketball god looks up. Catching the eye of the boy who had been East High's theater king, he gives him a smile.

_There's still the party tonight. And the summer, _Ryan reminds himself. He eyes the tight fitting read EHS Wildcat shirt the brunette athlete is wearing underneath of his white dress shirt until Gabriella leans back into him, obscuring it from view.

Ryan holds two neckties to his reflection. Blue and violet plaid and striped. He crinkles his nose in displeasure and opts instead for a solid indigo tie.

As he loops it around his neck, pleased that it perfectly coordinates with his white dress shirt and black fedora with a blue and white striped band, he recalls the "near wish fulfillment" that occurred during rehearsals for the musical.

He thinks of Troy's lean arms around him, the boy's tanned flesh against his dress shirt. The feeling that overwhelmed him for a mere instant while the word spun around him and Troy. His heart missing a beat in its rhythmic pulse as the boy with those mesmerizing ocean eyes leaned into him, uttering those damning words: _"You're easier to dance with than she is."_

Is it Ryan's fault that that phrase haunts him, taunting him with its repetition? Is he to blame for his right hand enacting all that he wishes Troy himself would as he hears the boy whispering huskily, ocean orbs staring at him, alight with desperation?

He shakes the thought out, forcing its expulsion from his mind. "Damn it, Evans!" he curses aloud. "Knock it off! You sound like a creepy voyeur." Composing himself, he reaches for his fedora and places it on his head, turning the brim off kilter. _I need a drink. That will help me forget about Troy. _Descending the staircase, he tries not to think about his hug with the athlete during the musical, the words they sang to each other. _Not to each other! That was completely unintentional._

He tries to ignore the wish that it wasn't.

He spends most of the party sitting off to the side. Troy gave him a congratulatory hug upon his entry.

"Way to go getting into Julliard, Ry. You earned it."

Troy's smile is a contagion. Ryan can't help but contract it.

"You really wowed 'em, Mr. Choreographer," Gabriella chips in. Her praise is sincere and the blond male can't bring himself to dislike her. Even while she hogs Troy's attention for a majority of the night.

Chad Danforth and Zeke Baylor also congratulated him in a macho fashion, Chad with a clap on the back and Zeke with a handshake.

He enjoyed the attention while it was on him, but did not wallow in it as his twin sister might have.

Martha Cox, brainiac turned hip-hop dancer and former head cheerleader of East High does her best to lighten his mood and he is grateful for the attempt, but…

"I think I'm going to raid the bar," he announces. "Do you want anything?"

"No thanks," Martha flushes.

"Why don't you visit Kelsi? I think she'd greatly appreciate the company."

Martha follows his gaze to the brunette composer who sits in a corner, trying drearily to avoid looking in his direction. He knows he has hurt her, even is it was unintentional.

He remembers twirling her at their senior prom. Her face drawing closer, her expression timid, expectant, and her eyes glowing under the contact lenses she wore just for the occasion. She looks so pretty under the lighting, and it's taken her so much courage to come out of her shell. He feels like a smarmy bastard for doing what he has to. He remembers his hands gently taking her bare shoulders, denying her.

"I'm gay," he reminds her.

And he'll never forget the instant punch of guilt as tears well in her eyes with sudden discernment and she apologizes over and over before fleeing for the sanctuary the girl's bathroom becomes during such festivities.

It's another event that will more than likely replay, caught in a constant loop for the rest of his life unless he develops Alzheimer's.

Nodding, the stocky brunette girl bids him farewell before heading over to Kelsi.

Ryan dodges around bodies, narrowly avoiding a collision with a boy whose appearance is all too close to Troy's. Finally reaching his destination, he pours himself a glass of vodka. He can only hope the piercing headache he will have the following morning is worth one night of forgetting.

Sipping from the glass, he welcomes the buzz clouding his thoughts. He makes his way back to his secluded corner, declining invitations to dance from various girls. He has no desire to relive prom night.

He sways a little and taps his foot in time to Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" and "Down" by Jay Sean. Under any other circumstance, he would be dominating the dance floor, but his heart isn't in it tonight.

Sharpay and Zeke dance without a care in the world, his sister's arms about the tall, handsome African American boy's neck. Ryan couldn't be happier for them if he tried. They spot him and wave in his direction.

This is enough to keep him from sensing the presence at his side until his name is called, causing him to jump and possibly dislodge several vertebrae. He looks over to find legs, thighs, a _marvelous_ bulge…

"Hey, Ryan."

Ryan's eyes travel up to meet Troy Bolton's. The former golden boy fidgets in a manner that betrays turmoil. His ocean colored eyes are troubled, his tanned visage flushed. In his hand, he clutches a Miller Light beer.

Instantly, the blond's on-setting intoxication is pushed aside in favor of concern. He has never seen Troy drink before. The school's grapevine was always ripe with tales of drunken debauchery committed by students. Troy's name somehow always managed to escape those of the offenders.

"Can we talk?" Troy asks. He takes in their surroundings before adding, his voice lowered, "It's important."

Ryan leaps to his feet, his agility not yet marred by the effects of alcoholic consumption. "Of course." _You're like a dog! _He chastises himself. _Have a shred of self-respect, will you? _ He leads Troy up the stairs, away from the noise and animation of the partiers in the lower levels of the grand mansion.

He makes a vague mental note that Gabriella left Troy's side for the company of Taylor McKessie, her best friend, five- maybe ten minutes ago and wonders if there is trouble in paradise.

"When I went to get Gabriella, to see her for prom, we kissed. It was like we were on the set of a romance movie; the sunset, the fountain…" Troy pauses to rub anxiously at the back of his neck. "But… I don't know… something just seemed…"

Ryan listens intently, his brows beginning to furrow. They are seated on his bed across from one another; he is positioned toward the head and Troy at the foot. They face one another, their kneecaps just touching.

Troy resumes, "Sometimes I feel like she thinks nothing I do is good enough… But, I don't know…"

Confusion fills Ryan. Is it the alcohol or the stress making Troy's explanation nearly incoherent? "You don't know…?" He prompts gently. He can sense the boy's insecurity, its sharp edges driving into the brunette athlete and he wants to make the boy feel comfortable opening up to him, help to pacify him. It's the least he can do.

Troy sighs. "I would have gone to Chad, but… he's optimistic. He'd tell me to go for it and take the time to think about it later." He stares tentatively into Ryan's eyes, reaching for something. "I need someone more rational, more reasonable to discuss this with."

Ryan lays a hand on Troy's shoulder, relaying wordlessly that he is there and he'll try to be the rational voice the troubled boy seeks.

Troy half smiles, grateful for the comforting contact. He takes a deep breath as if to brace himself for the weight of the delivery. "Gabriella wants to take the next step."

Ryan knows his face is involuntarily displaying surprise. _So soon?_ A sharp pain seizes his chest and his stomach flips over itself.

"She hasn't been blunt with me, but she's been dropping me hints throughout the night, pressing against me… kissing my neck, which she's never done before."

The former king of the drama department forces himself to ignore the adverse effect the girl's lips on the beautiful boy's neck has on him. And the thought of him inside of her… He blanches, terminating the image before it can process. _This isn't about me. It's about Troy. _

"She wants something to hold onto," Troy continues. "A memento for when she goes back to Stanford tomorrow. Only I don't think I can do it."

The news is surprising, to say the very least. The apprehensive note in Troy's voice has Ryan both riveted and deeply concerned.

"They call it "making love" and I'm not sure if I love her." It's both disconcerting and alleviating to confess this. The blond sees the two contrasting sensations battling for dominance on Troy's visage. "She told me she loved me, and I couldn't say it back… Is there something wrong with me?" Alarm flares in his ocean blue eyes.

"No," Ryan hastily reassures him. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you." He squeezes Troy's sculpted shoulder, letting the sincerity and intensity of his feelings on the matter be broadcast via the sky shaded orbs set in his fair face.

"I try so hard to please her," Troy goes on his distress even more pronounced. "I let her do what she thinks is best for her even if it means she throws me away-!"

"Troy," Ryan cuts him off. He summons firmness in his voice, determined to make sure his words are received. "If one of you devotes all of your time to pleasing the other, and gets nothing in return, that _isn't _love."

Troy's attention is fixated solely on him, as if he is the center of the taller boy's universe. The revelation expresses itself on his face.

"If you're not ready, you should tell her. Don't needlessly pressure yourself."

"You're right. You're so right, Ryan."

The orbs of ocean blue, the ones that Ryan would allow himself to sink into until he is fully submerged, are staring directly at his lips coated with glittering cherry gloss.

"Troy," he lets the boy's name escape his mouth. Before his nerve endings can relay the message to his gray matter, those hands, those tanned appendages, the ever-evasive tormentors of his dreams are ever so gently holding both of his now heated cheeks.

"Smooth…" Troy remarks, which Ryan associates with the texture of his face.

_Warm_, is the adjective he'd utilize for describing the taller boy's hands.

Troy's tanned visage draws closer. Ryan's breath hitches in his throat as he inhales the brunette's. Mint is the aroma he detects. Mint overpowering the alcohol.

Those blue eyes are so intense, so clear. So painfully _sober_.

_What the hell? _The blond thinks. A soft caress silences the next thought to form.

"Thank you, Ry," Troy whispers. His knuckle traces from Ryan's cheek to his chin. "For _everything_."

And as Ryan watches, bewilderment rising in him as his heart thunders, cacophonous in his chest cavity, Troy departs through the door. His footfalls are drowned out by the sound of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream".

Ryan laughs bitterly to himself before laying a hand on the place Troy had occupied on his bed a mere instant ago. It's still warm. "Well fuck in the ass!" He reaches for his half-empty glass of vodka, and then determines, _Aw hell,_ before getting up and closing the door. "A toast to you, Mrs. Brand," he mutters, the sounds of the joyous affair effectively muffled by the wood barrier.

_"Troy…"_

_ "Ryan, you don't know how I've longed for you? To kiss you senseless, pound your succulent ass into the mattress?" Troy's blue eyes burn with desire as he climbs on top of the theater king. Pushing him back, he straddles him. _

_ "Oh Troy…!" Ryan moans. The brunette boy's strong hands run up the side of his torso until they reach his face, which they upturn. Troy's tongue parts his lips, plunging into the moist cavern that accepts it with great zeal. _

_ Desire constricts in the blond's chest, turning to heat that runs off, pooling in his lower body. His member strains against the denim of his jeans. _

_ "Mmm…" He moans eagerly, wantonly into the union of mouths. Troy breaks off, their lips smacking audibly. _

_ "You taste like strawberries and cream after it's rained," the athlete comments before nibbling at Ryan's throat. His mouth is so hot, wet. It tickles so wonderfully against the virgin flesh. _

_ Ryan's eyes flutter closed and as they re-open, the sight they behold startles him. Blue green eyes teeming with sadness peer at him from behind a layer of red-framed glass lenses. The moonlight catches them, reflecting a blinding glint. Brown curls frame a soft face. _"Kelsi?" _His eyes open wide. Troy freezes. The virile boy's compact weight is dense on his comparatively petite form. _

"Ryan," _the girl whimpers pitifully. He feels like such an asshole for unintentionally leading her on. But Troy… oh how he wants him… craves him, needs him. _But Gabriella, _he reminds himself. _Troy has Gabriella. Everybody has a somebody for them.

He awakens to the pattering of rain. He lies curled up, his face pressed to the place that once held the warmth of a body other than his own. Now the warmth is solely from his own form, but the musk of Troy Bolton still lingers. Pulling himself upright, he listens. But for the sound of the rain falling, all is quiet. _How long have I been out of it? _He asks himself. Sharpay's parties are notorious for going on into the wee hours of the morning, long after most of the guests have passed out, usually on the floor. He happens to glance over at the window and for the second time that night, receives an instant shock to the system. Someone is standing on the oak tree outside his window in the pouring rain. _How much alcohol does one have to intake to hallucinate something as nightmarish as "Twilight"?_ He staggers out of bed and over to the window, his heart missing a beat as he stands a few feet away from the unmistakable face of Troy Bolton, a layer of rain soaked glass between them.

Troy waves shyly, his shaggy hair plastered to his forehead.

_Is he a fucking lunatic? _Ryan wonders. Fearing for the boy's safety on the wet branch he is miraculously perching on in the downpour, he throws up the window and the screen. Rain pelts him, but it is an afterthought, something to worry about after he gets the boy into the house. He extends a hand, which Troy takes and all but pulls the boy in.

The former golden boy stands before him, his beautiful navy blue t he wore at the party earlier clinging to his sculpted torso, revealing the outline of his pectorals. And they're fantastic.

Ryan feels a twinge in his loins that he ignores. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"I couldn't do it, Ry." Troy finally speaks up. "She came out in this lacy nightgown. She looked amazing. Any other guy would have been all over her, and she knew that. But I couldn't do it." He meets Ryan's eyes, his own charged, exhilarated.

Ryan has to resist a smile. This is he happiest he's seen Troy since before Gabriella left for Stanford the first time and knowing that he has lended to it… Before he can lose himself in revelries. He shuts the window, hoping the carpet hasn't suffered any water damage, and turns back to Troy. The dressy jacket the boy has on over the t-shirt is thoroughly soaked and probably heavy. "You should change out of those wet clothes."

"Right." Troy tugs the jacket off. Ryan retrieves it and tosses into the hamper in the hallway. He's relieved to see Sharpay's door is shut.

The athlete works his way out of his plaid over shirt and navy t-shirt. He presents himself in all his glory and _ohh…_

Clearing his throat, trying not to needlessly ogle and violate the boy with his eyes, Ryan prompts, "Would you like some pajamas?" With it raining, he can't see Troy traveling, nor does he want him to in such weather.

"No thanks. I'll be alright." Troy smiles his boyish Troy Bolton smile.

They stand there for a moment, neither pondering the oddity of the situation. Then, they inexplicably gravitate toward one another. Before there is time for a reaction, Troy's lips are on Ryan's, the union needy, passionate and fiery. It's everything the choreographer ever could have asked for. And so much better than his dream. Troy's arms wrap around him, his arms twine themselves about the basketball player. They hold on securely, as if they have no intention of letting go.

Ryan is suddenly freefalling and isn't concerned or fearful of the outcome so long as Troy is there with him. His mattress cushions their descent. As he sinks into the bedding, he and Troy part. He peers into the brunette's ocean eyes for a moment and is placated by what he finds there. Troy gives him a slight smile that he enthusiastically returns.

The rain continues to pelt against the glass of the window. Their lips press together in a last penetrating kiss. Ryan feels Troy's tongue glide over his teeth and caress his tongue.

Part of him still hasn't registered what is occurring as reality out of fear of heartbreak coming with the sunrise. Another relishes the moment for all that its worth. _For one night… for one night, Troy is mine._

The glare of the sun infiltrating the shield his eyelids provide rouses Ryan. He stretches luxuriously, feeling no need to make haste. He glances over and finds, much to his contentment, Troy Bolton's face mere inches away, the boy's eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Troy's chest, still bare, Ryan notes, rises and falls gently.

Ryan's chest tightens and he smiles lovingly at the boy. Behind his pillows, lays his hat, which had fallen off sometime during slumber. He takes in Troy's untidy mop of shaggy, made, so by lying in the bed, the way locks of brown have fallen into his face and his hand twitches impulsively, hesitantly.

He gives a mild start as, with a soft groan, Troy stirs. The sunlight streaming through the window gives everything a hazy, ethereal quality, a dream-like feel. The thought of this being a wonderful fabrication of his subconscious and nothing more frightens him obscenely.

"Morning," Troy says. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up.

"Good morning, sunshine," Ryan returns, managing a half smile as he pulls himself upright.

"Your mattress is so comfortable." Troy remarks.

"Erhm thanks. It's a Tempur Pedic. I tend to have stiff limbs from all of the dancing-" Realizing he's rambling, the blond quickly cuts himself off.

Troy, however, expresses no annoyance. "Stiff limbs, huh? I know what that's like. Perhaps you'd like some help with that?" The inquiry is titillating and _hell yes_ Ryan would love some help, specifically Troy's big, strong, warm, safe hands rubbing and kneeding at his flesh to rid him of the _rigidity…_especially of a certain other muscle, but there are more pressing manners to be dealt with.

Namely…

"Last night," he begins. He looks for a tactful way of phrasing what he means to ask, determined not to sound like someone in a wretched soap opera.

Troy's eyes are on him and his gaze flicks up to meet them.

"Troy, was last night you catering to our drunken whims?"

Good humor lights up the golden boy's tanned visage. His arm wraps around the blond's narrow frame. His eyes never leave Ryan's as he says, "Last night was me _finally_ figuring out what I should have known all along."

Ryan's heart swells and he needn't search for validation, its all right there in Troy's eyes.

They lean in for another kiss, but something catches Ryan's eye causing him to halt.

"What's wrong?" Troy asks.

A thin red cut is on the athlete's shoulder. _Probably from when he scaled that tree_, Ryan infers. "You have a cut on your shoulder."

"I do? I didn't notice."

The blond ghosts over the red line formed by the abrasion, careful not to evoke any pain.

There is no reaction from the brunette, no wincing or flinching.

"You must have done it while climbing that tree." Ryan states solicitously. He muses to himself how befitting of the athlete Sharpay's title of "boy wonder" is.

"Probably. I was notorious at getting nicked up when I was a kid." Troy chuckles. Ryan thinks of a younger, scrawnier boy with shorter hair falling off of a skateboard after bravely attempting the task of boarding without pads to cushion his fall.

"You?" He teases him light-heartedly, feigning disbelief.

"Yeah, me." Troy nuzzles in close. Him, being the basketball team captain that passed the firing of the most vital shot in the defining game of his career in a Wildcats uniform to his obnoxious sophomore stalker and hitting the ground hard in the process of executing the jump shot necessary to do so. Yes, Troy being a daring and as a result, often scraped up child is a perfect fit.

Ryan feels that gaining this knowledge is a highly coveted privilege, and one that he won't soon forfeit.

He nuzzles into the brunette, his pale nose brushing against Troy's tanned one.

They forget Gabriella. They forget Kelsi. Ryan makes a brief mental note to clean Troy's cut with antiseptics before the love of his life's lips are on his once more. There is no longer the obstacle of high school to impede them. They can just stay in bed all day if they wish, once Troy informs his parents and Gabriella, of course, familiarizing themselves with each other. He'll come up with some excuse if Sharpay asks.

His eyes flick briefly to the framed picture of the Drama Club on the nightstand. In the photo, Troy's arm is draped over his shoulder as he stands to the right of the boy and Gabriella is beaming just to Troy's left. That words "East High's Shining Stars" are emblazoned in a vibrant red on the bottom half of the picture. _Improvisation without a script, no one's written it. And now we have the chance to. _

He smiles. Already he can feel his feelings toward graduation being revised.

"Mm, was that offer of assistance with my stiff limbs a promise?" He asks, kissing the corner of Troy's mouth.

Troy grins, his eyes sparkling. "Bet on it."

End Part I.


End file.
